The man Waco took the proffered tobacco and papers. His weariness seemed to vanish as he smoked. "That pill sure saved my life," he asserted.
"How much you reckon your life's worth?"
Waco blew a smoke-ring and nodded toward it as it dissolved. Lorry pondered. The keen edge of his interest in the capture had worn off, leaving a blunt purpose—a duty that was part of the day's work. As he realized how much the other was at his mercy a tinge of sympathy softened his gray eyes. Justice was undeniably a fine thing. Folks were entitled to the pursuit of happiness, to life and liberty he had read somewhere. He glanced up. Waco, seated opposite, had drifted back into a stupor, head sunk forward and arms relaxed. The stub of his cigarette lay smouldering between his feet. Lorry thought of the girl's appeal.
"Just what started you to workin' this holdup game?" he queried.
Waco's head came up. "You joshin' me?"
"Nope."
"You wouldn't believe a hard-luck story, so what's the use?"
"Ain't any. I was just askin' a question. Roll another?"
Waco stuck out his grimy paw. His fingers trembled as he fumbled the tobacco and papers.
Lorry proffered a match. "It makes me sick to see a husky like you all shot to pieces," said Lorry.